Twas the Night Before
by Nicole Harpe
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and the Project gets a visitor no one can quite believe in. A winter tale that is as sappy as they come! Happy holidays!
1. Chapter 1

This is a fluffy piece I wrote long ago. It is sappy and schmaltzy and wreaking of all that oozy stuff that just seems to work this time of year. Anyhow, it is my contribution to the holiday literature out here in fanfic land. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Eid or whatever you celebrate during the winter solstice.

I do not own any part of Quantum Leap.

'**Twas the Night Before - **Chapter One

Project Quantum Leap decorated itself for the holiday season. The cafeteria reflected international traditions for Christmas, Hanukkah, Eid and Kwanza. The colors swirled in gaudy displays whose hand-crafted look lent a homelike atmosphere to the paneled walls. The seriousness of the work done in the other project rooms was just not a welcome topic of conversation at meal time and that was a written edict from the administrator.

Admiral Al Calavicci, Project Administrator and writer of the cafeteria order, entered with Dr. Verbena Beeks on his arm. Between his red suit accented with silver shoes, and her African print Namibian dress they almost out shone the twinkling lights on the tree in the corner until you looked into their eyes. They whispered hellos to people and smiled appropriately, but neither one was in the mood of the season despite their attire. The cafeteria staff handed the evening's meal to them and they sat at the Admiral's Table, a small place tucked in an out of the way corner.

Al played with the steaming ratatouille on his plate. Verbena actually made some attempt to eat. "Come on, Al. I know this is always a hard time for you, but not eating won't make anything better."

"I'm not very hungry. That's all."

"When did you eat last?"

"Yesterday, I think."

"Not good, Admiral."

"Verbena, I'm not interested in debating my eating habits. The problem is getting Sam home."

"I thought there was no business talk over meals here."

He wrote the rule. A good military man didn't break rules. So rather than defy the order he was certain made sense, he stood up, kissed her forehead and said, "I'll see you later."

After sighing loud and long, Verbena kept on eating. She knew there was no talking to him when he was in one of his moods.

Al made his way out into the hallway and, while he liked the clean lines of the project, he hated its sterility. That was one of the reasons he paid special attention to the cafeteria when helping design the grounds. The food would be good and the furniture would not be institutional. It worked. The cafeteria was the center of the project, a refuge from problems, a place for good coffee, fresh food from sandwiches to gourmet meals and, since the Admiral was known for his sweet tooth, an array of sinful desserts.

When he really sat back and considered the totality of his life, he knew that it was the middle of the road was his enemy. Give him tremendous highs and lows that would kill most people, those he could deal with, but this day to day stuff with no changes, that was killing to him. You'd think having a best friend lost in time, leaping into other people's auras and making changes in that person's life would be enough to keep a man interested, but Sam Beckett had been leaping for over four years. Things started to be repetitious and the past dozen leaps were repeats of very boring stuff. Sam needed to get home and that needed to happen yesterday or the Admiral would go stark raving mad.

The fact that Christmas was the next day didn't help either. Like his life in general, his history with Christmas was checkered. The first Christmas he spent with his wife Beth was wonderful, but they were apart from her family and she was a little lonely. Then there was the one in the orphanage after his father died. That was almost the worst, nearly as bad as the eight Christmases he spent caged in a Vietnamese prison camp. Those angry imprisoned holidays sometimes overshadowed the joyous Yuletide he spent circling the earth in a NASA spacecraft. Sublime. Ridiculous. The story of his life and now he had to learn to deal with mundane and he wasn't good at it.

In the past, when Ziggy, the computer that linked Al to his buddy Sam, when Ziggy announced Sam had leaped, Al would almost leap into action himself. Now, when Ziggy vibrated the device surrounding the Admiral's right wrist, Al merely shrugged and turned toward the center of the complex, toward the Control Room and whatever ho-hum adventure awaited him.

As he turned the corner, he met up with Verbena again. "You got the word, too?"

"Gooshie paged me. He's having trouble linking to Sam. I guess there's a problem with the visitor."

His pace increased in speed just a little. The promise of trouble made him almost happy. At least he would have something to do. "Did he say what kind of trouble?"

"You know Gooshie. If he puts more than five words in a sentence, the meaning gets garbled."

The Control Room door slid open with a whoosh and Gooshie sort of just stood there with a puzzled look on his face. He looked to the new entrants, like a child looks to his parents for answers about anything and everything. "I. . ." his lips moved, but no sound came out.

Al asked, "Is Sam in danger?" A gentle shake of Gooshie's head only slightly calmed Al's brief fears. "Okay, then, what's the problem?"

"The visitor. He's . . ." the same lip motion took over.

Verbena took the programmer's hand. "Should we go in and talk to him?" This time Gooshie nodded. "Okay. You stay here. The Admiral and I will handle the visitor."

At the Waiting Room door Al said, "Maybe I should go in alone. If this guy is crazy, I don't want you hurt."

"I don't want you hurt, either."

He winked and entered the Waiting Room wondering exactly who was in there. The panel slid closed behind him and he turned to see this new person. A Fermi suit doesn't look good on too many people. Skintight white full-body leotards don't hide any figure trouble spots. The man sitting on the dais was a little larger than most and maybe a little shorter and also a lot older. Al never remembered seeing a beard and hair quite that white before. "Hello, my name is Al. What's your name?"

The man smiled with such gentleness and sweetly chuckled. "You don't know me, do you? You never did. I always thought that was very sad."

This guy was playing games with him and he wasn't going to join in. There was no doubt who the guy looked like, but then it was Christmas. A million men were donning beards and white hair. Al tried again. "Who are you?"

The chubby little man lowered his eyes, "I hoped our meeting would go better than this."

Al knew where the nut case was going. "Alright, you're Santa Claus."

"If you say so."

Al turned his head just a bit, trying to keep the visitor from seeing him roll his eyes. "Yeah, right, and I'm Frosty the Snowman. Now, what's your real name?"

"That depends on where you were born."

Well, that went nowhere, but Al needed information. "Okay. Let's try this. What year is it?"

"What year do you want it to be?"

Al was gifted with intelligence, talent, strength, and courage, but patience was something else again. The little he did have just flew out the window and he stomped out of the Waiting Room to go find it again. Verbena and Gooshie were standing together near the Control Console. "Alright, where's Sam?" Fish lips tried to say something, but only guppy breath emerged. "Gooshie, get it together here. Where is Sam?"

Verbena spoke for the programmer. "Seems that Gooshie has an odd lock on Sam."

Minutes earlier, he had been wishing for a change in the action, a new twist, a new situation to solve, but having Santa Claus in the Waiting Room and an odd lock on Sam wasn't what he was looking for (though he'd have been hard pressed to tell anyone what he was looking for.) Back to Gooshie. "Odd? Why odd?"

Finally, real words came out. "Well, I have a lock on him, but I have no time established."

"Uh-huh. So? What are you telling me?"

This situation never presented itself before and Gooshie knitted his thin wispy brows together to try to work it through. "Seems that I can get you to Sam, but I don't know where he is and before you ask, no, I don't know why and no, I don't know how and I don't know who or what or when or. . . or. . ."

Verbena led him to a chair. "Sit down before you hyperventilate."

Al barked, "Hyperventilate after you center me on Sam."

Gooshie's backside barely met the seat when he bounced onto his feet and to the console where he had some kind of control. "Ready, Admiral."

Picking up the handlink from the charger, Al marched into the Imaging Chamber with all the conviction he could muster. The silver disk matched his silver shoes and the visual swirled around him until he landed next to Sam.

There he was. It was evening and the stores were all closed, but Sam stood there, upturned bell in his hand, wearing a damp red velvet suit, staring into the snow and sadly calling out "Ho, ho. Merry Christmas."

It was the straw that he needed and he laughed that uniquely pitched snicker that belied his high-ranking military station. "Oh, yeah, you're good. I'd give you, hey, maybe a nickel."

Under his breath and from behind the fake beard Sam muttered, "Where have you been? I haven't seen a soul since I leaped in here and where exactly is here?"

"Good to see you, too." He played with the handlink and tried to see if Ziggy had any answers for him. "We have a little problem, Sam."

"I hate when you say that."

"Yeah, well, I'm not too thrilled about it either."

The cold made Sam's toes numb. "Give me something to go on here. I'm freezing to death."

"You're a long way from freezing to death, but you do look a little cold."

"Where do I live?"

"Live? Hell, I don't even know who you are!" His hand smacked the handlink which whistled back in protest.

"Then forget Ziggy and ask the visitor."

He smacked the handlink again, this time with no response from the pouting piece of machinery. "I already did. He's a nut case."

Al didn't want to go any further with that confrontation, but Sam wasn't going to let it rest. "So, what did Ziggy say?"

"Nothing."

Sam was astounded, "She won't talk?"

"No, she talks fine, too much maybe. The visitor says he's Santa Claus." Sam stared at him and stared and then stared more. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I didn't say he was Santa Claus."

"So, I leaped into a loon. What year is it?"

Remembering the answer he received to that question, Al parroted, "What year do you want it to be?"

"You're not helping."

That was true, but it wasn't his fault. He wanted to tell Sam the name, the place, the year, the reason why he leaped into the loon, but he didn't have any of that information. "I'd like to, Sam, but Ziggy and Gooshie are stumped and the guy in the Waiting Room is no help at all." Al looked around. "You know, even for night time, it's awfully quiet here. Where is everybody?"

The two time travelers looked around at the scene. It was a picture postcard perfect cityscape with falling snow, older brownstone buildings, an occasional light left on in the windows. The block looked vaguely familiar to Al, but he wasn't able to put his finger on it.

"It's been like this since I arrived. Not a soul."

Al had moments when he got what he called creepy crawly feelings and he was getting them now. "Yeah, something's wrong here. It's like this isn't any place at all."

Sam had a different reaction. "Really? I kind of feel like it's every place."

Now Al felt the chill, but it wasn't the weather. A weird thought flitted into his head and he asked, "What year do you want it to be?"

"What?"

"The year. Pick a year."

Sam had no idea where Al was going. "You pick a year."

Hesitation and the tiniest bit of fear entered his voice when he told Sam, "Ask for 1979."

"Why?"

A curt loud, angry growl startled Sam, "Just do it!"

Stunned, surprised and completely mystified, Sam agreed to the demand. "I want 1979."

With a flash of light, the street bustled with activity. It was 1979 and Al knew exactly where they were. "Damn, Sam. This is 1979. Look at the cars, the clothes on the people. This is 1979."

"What are you talking about? It can't be 1979 just because I said so."

Al wandered around the street a little more. "Geez, Sam, this is weird."

"You're starting to scare me, Al."

All sorts of impossibilities filled his head and he didn't know how to start explaining them since there was no explanation. An elevated train rumbled by overhead. "We're in Chicago. That much I can tell, but nothing else makes sense." He walked over to a newspaper dispenser and checked out the headline. "Damn, I don't believe it. Sam, look here at the paper."

Peering in the two men read, "Astronauts Prepare for Moon Landing."

"Sam, that's my flight. We circled the moon on Christmas then the computers blew and we had to come home without completing the mission."

"I remember that. Nobody thought you guys would make it back alive."

Under his breath Al mumbled, "Glad no one told us that." He walked a few steps away, suddenly a little leery of the paper's declaration. "I don't like this, Sam. This is weird."

"Ask Ziggy what's going on."

A couple of good whacks yielded nothing useful. "She just asked me to leave her out of this." Suspiciously he looked at Sam, "Can she do that?"

"Of course not!"

"Yeah, well you tell her. She just turned herself off." The handlink suffered more abuse, but no amount of coaxing would bring it back online. "We're on our own here, Sam. I'm going to go back and talk to Santa Claus and see what he can tell me."

"Wait, Al. I'm freezing here. Where do I live?"

"You better not be expecting an answer, kid. How the hell would I know?" The white rectangle appeared behind Al. His parting words were, "If you could change the year, maybe you can change the place. Wish for Las Vegas."

With a poof Al was out of sight and Sam stood in the wet Chicago snow. "Damn. Wish for Las Vegas. I'd rather be in Hawaii." Another poof exploded and Sam found himself still with bell in hand, still sporting long white whiskers, but wearing red shorts and tennis shoes. The lamppost was replaced by a palm tree. Drizzly rain/snow was replaced by warm, sweet breezes and wild orchids perfumed the air. This time, the bell dropped from his hand and clattered on the sidewalk. Only one thing was similar between here and his last location. "No one is here, either." There was no doubt about it, the routine of the last too many leaps was broken (shattered actually) into little tiny pieces. "I'm in Hawaii! I don't believe this."

Remembering he needed a time as well as a place to be, Sam announced to the sea, "It's 1994," and people appeared racing down the sidewalk on roller blades, strolling along the beach in front of him. "Oh, boy!"

A kid on a skateboard flew past flinging a few coins in the bucket at Sam's side. "That's 'ho, ho, ho' mister!"

Al had nothing to go on and no one to go to except the bearded fellow in the Waiting Room. He took Verbena by the hand. "You're coming with me."

"Where?"

They stopped outside the Waiting Room door. "The guy in here thinks he's Santa Claus and I got to tell you, there are weird things going on with Sam."

"Why weird?"

He related the tale of Sam's calling the year and it happening. Verbena put her hand on his forehead. "I'm not sick." He jabbed his finger toward the door. "That guy is. The only thing I can figure is he's a part of Lothos."

"And Lothos is?"

"The evil Ziggy, the one that tries to undo what Sam's doing. I thought we were rid of him, but now I'm not sure."

"Al, this man says he's Santa, not Satan."

His Italian brown eyes darted about as he calculated the possibility, "Santa, Satan, it's an anagram. The same letters, Verbena."

She looked at him as if he were crazy. "Don't let your vivid imagination run wild here, Admiral. Take me to see Santa."

Together they walked into the Waiting Room and found Santa curled up on the dais, his hands tucked under his head and a soft snore escaping from his pink-cheeked face. When Verbena looked at the visitor, she saw Sam, not the man he claimed to be. It was only Al who saw the visitors for their true selves and saw Sam as his true self. It was a phenomenon that made life occasionally difficult, but right now, when he needed Verbena to believe some part of his story, it was making his life miserable.

"Looks like Sam to me."

Reminding Verbena of the facts he said, "He always looks like Sam to you. Trust me on this one. This guy is short, fat, bearded, rosy, the whole nine yards."

"I wish I could see what you see," and the room flashed white, just like the street had earlier. Verbena stumbled backward after the light cleared. "Oh, my goodness."

Al caught her before she fell. "What's wrong? You okay?"

Her jaw dropped open and a finger pointed to the visitor. "It's him."

It was an internal debate. Should he be concerned? This might be part of the evil leaper's activity. Or should he revel in the idea that some magical being dropped into the Project? "You see what I see, right?"

She nodded slowly, "How?"

Thinking back Al said, "You wished you saw what I saw and your wish came true. Now, you find out who the hell this guy is. I need answers and Ziggy has dropped out of the picture. Wake him up."

She didn't want to go near the visitor. A lot of odd things had happened at Project Quantum Leap, but there were a few certainties that kept her going. One was that the visitor always looked like Sam. No matter the personality, gender, size or shape, Sam was Sam. Now Sam wasn't Sam. "You think he's dangerous?"

It was Al's turn to look at her as if she was crazy. He started shadow boxing. "I can take Santa Claus. What do you think?"

"Not funny, Al."

The old man still lay happily asleep. Al approached and gently took the chubby shoulder in hand. Rocking the man just a bit he said, "Hey, there. Wake up. We have to talk."

The visitor voiced a cartoon yawn, stretched as far as his stubby little arms would go and then sat up. "That was splendid. I enjoy taking naps. You should try sleeping a little more, Al. You're going to work yourself sick."

"Yeah, well, this is Verbena. She wants to talk to you."

Stroking his beard neatly he faced the psychiatrist. "Little Verbena. I always thought you had the prettiest name. Reminds me of fragrant flowers. What can I do for you?"

"The Admiral thinks we should talk."

"Oh, I'm sure he does." Looking at the slightly retreating military man the visitor asked, "Al, did you ever think you'd be an important Admiral in the Navy?"

This guy was a master manipulator, but then Al had been up against the best and was even considered one of the best himself. "My career isn't the subject here. You are. Now, who the hell are you? And don't play games. I need answers now. Sam is floating out in nowhere because of you and I won't have it."

He grabbed his bowlful of jelly and roared a big Santa laugh. "My, oh my, you are authoritative when you need to be, aren't you."

"I can be the biggest pain in the ass when I need to be. You ready to cooperate?"

Verbena took his arm, "Al, that's probably not helping matters."

"I don't have time for subtlety. We could lose Sam."

His little toes vainly tried to touch the floor and finally a few did. He slid down from the dais and stood in front of the pair. "Trust me, you will not lose Sam. That I can promise you and I promise only a very few things. Now, what shall we talk about?"

Al closed his eyes in frustration, ground his teeth and patted his jacket looking for a cigar. He cursed his prior cursing of the mundane and the fact that he'd forgotten his Chivellos. "You are going to tell me why Sam can call the shots when it comes to what year he's in."

"That's easy. He's me, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"I can be at any year I want. Time for me doesn't move linearly. All time for me is the present, past and future. Whenever I want to be, I am, so if he's me then he can be whenever he wants. He can also be wherever he wants. It's a delightful life, you know."

He spoke as if what he was saying made all the sense in the world, but the Admiral wasn't buying it. Hiding his exasperation wasn't easy. "You're going to tell me what I want to know right now. Understand?"

The kindly old elf took Al's hand in both of his. "Yes, I do." Italian temperament was at a fast boil. Al shook off the gentle hands and walked out before he said more than he should. With a sad, sweet sigh, the visitor told Verbena, "Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn."

Verbena guided the visitor back to the dais and help him slide back up. "He's a good man."

A short grunt and a big push got him back up on the dais. "Oh, I know. He's a special one."

"We think so."

"I'm sure you do, but you don't know what I mean. Admiral Calavicci is uniquely blessed. He's a special one." Verbena didn't understand. "A **_special_** one," the visitor repeated, but it still made no sense at all.

Without bothering to miss a step, the Admiral entered the Control Room, picked up the handlink, stormed up the ramp toward the Imaging Chamber and ordered, "Gooshie, center me on Sam."

The walls changed around him and he was once again with Sam Beckett somewhere. At least this time, they were inside where Sam could be warm and safe from winter weather. Sam watched his buddy appear beside him. "Al, look. Look where we are!"

"Can't you ever start a conversation with 'hello'?"

"Sorry. Hello Al. Now, do you know where we are?"

The room was familiar to him, but nothing stirred great memories. "I don't know. Looks pretty ordinary to me. Kind of country."

"Exactly. They can't see me, either. It's like I'm a hologram. Al, this is my house and it's 1958. I'm five years old."

"No one's here, Sam."

He nodded like a child being asked if he wanted more whipped cream on his ice cream. "They're bringing the tree in. This was the first year Dad let me go with him and Tom to get the tree. Look out the window. They're all there. Mom, Dad, Tom." Peeking through the curtained window, Al saw the Beckett family laughing and trying their best to get snow on each other from head to toe. Sam joined his friend at the window. "I just wished myself here. It's great! Al, Christmas was the best time. It was always happy. There's so much love in our house."

Tom Beckett pushed little brother Sam into a snow bank, but he got his when Dad pushed Tom! The laughter from the family grew and grew until it transformed into one huge sound of joy ringing through the world. Big Sam grinned from ear to ear. "Al, this is real Christmas. This is what I remember Christmas being."

Seeing Sam happy was always a goal of Al's, but being reminded of his own deprived childhood didn't do much for his mood. He smiled at the grown little boy. "Yeah, this is what it should be for everyone, at least once."

They kept watching the 1958 Becketts as they dragged in the tree, deposited wet boots, scarves and coats in the vestibule and hauled out box after box of bright, colorful ornaments, most of which were remarkably ugly, but no one cared. It was Christmas and it was meant to be spectacular with homemade memories of sparkly glass balls, lights that burned out too often, and the scent of hot cinnamon cider. The time travelers watched as the family sang and giggled and told stories about the old days and hugged each other. Al noticed they hugged each other a lot. More than once, his hand started to reach out to try and join in, but holograms can't touch that world. He hoped Sam didn't see.

Hours later, the tree was trimmed and everyone settled in their own spots with their mugs of cider. Thelma Beckett held young Sam on her lap. Ten year old Tom leaned against his father's strong shoulder. The fire gave out a glow of warm light and only the crackling of the logs broke the quiet. Thelma held her son with such love that grown Sam had to fight back a sniff or two. She started softly singing a sweet carol, "The children in each different place Will see the Baby Jesus' face Like theirs, but bright with heavenly grace, And filled with holy light. O lay aside each earthly thing, And with thy heart as offering, Come worship now the Infant King. 'Tis love that's born tonight."

The straw broke Al's back. "Sam, I got to go." The hologram started walking out of the Norman Rockwell picture hearing a mother sing of loving her child.

Sam followed. "Wait, Al, wait." He caught up with the Admiral. "I'm sorry. I got carried away. This was one of the best Christmases I ever had. I forgot you grew up a little different."

"A little." There was no bitterness in the words, just a melancholy that he figured over 60 years should have erased. "It's okay, Sam. I'm really glad you had this. It's probably why you can contend with a screw-up like me."

A smile was there, but it rang false to Sam. "You ever get the feeling we were meant to meet, that it was pre-ordained?"

Al was a matter-of-fact kind of guy. Things were or they weren't. Deal with facts and you survive. Let too many dreams and fantasies invade your life and you may as well sign yourself into the psych ward. No, give Al realities, no matter how strange they were, and then he could cope. "Don't second guess it, Sam. All that matters is that we did meet."

Neither man was really good at touchy feely stuff so the diverted eyes, little coughs and toes grinding into the flooring were about all they would do to agree. Sam then realized, "Good grief. You've been here for hours and we never talked about my mission. Do you know what it is yet?"

"No idea. The guy says he's Santa Claus." Then it occurred to him, "Though he never really said that was his name. It's just that's who he looks like."

"I don't know what to do, Al. What do we need to make right in his life?"

"According to him, everything is wonderful. He makes me nervous."

"I hate to do this to you, but go talk to him again. Find out what's going on. I wish I could help you."

Al smiled, "I don't think you can. Why don't you visit another Christmas with your family, maybe one when Katie was little. It might be fun to see Christmas through her eyes."

Sam thought for a moment. "1965. She'd be four and a half then." Looking upward, as if that somehow was the right protocol, he started to say, "I want it to be. . ."

"No! Don't change times yet. I want to be out of here." The rectangle appeared and he left Sam to revel in his pleasant past. The Waiting Room was still filled with the strange visitor. The Admiral walked to the dais where the little man sat. Al gestured for him to scoot over a little and then jumped up to sit next to him. "Okay, you and I have to work this out for once and for all."

"You sure you want to?"

Al buried his head in his hands and thought about an answer. "To be honest, I don't think so, but what I want doesn't matter."

"Why doesn't it matter?"

"Sam is the one who needs the information. I'm the only one who can get it to him. It's my job. It's what I do."

The visitor corrected him, "It's what you've always done, Al."

After watching the most perfect Christmas he could imagine, Al had no need for psychoanalysis. "Listen, I'm not up for games. Why don't you tell me what the hell is going on. Who sent you here? Why did they send you and how soon will you be gone?"

The visitor laughed. "I'm sorry I've disturbed you. It wasn't my intention. I really came to try to make things better."

"Well, you haven't. I'm more tired now than I've been in years and what's worse, I don't care. Please, just tell me what I need to know so that I can do my job." The weariness in his voice, the sag of his shoulders, the dullness in his eyes all made testament to Al's fatigue. The only thing this leap was doing was showing him how his life was empty. No childhood recollections of Santa, no sister to love or to love him, no wife, no children, no best friend to toast the New Year with. Yeah, yippee. This was one wonderful leap. "Somehow or other, you're the key to all this. What do I have to do to get an answer?"

The visitor didn't know how else to explain it. The answers were all there for Al to take, but the Admiral had no idea how. "You really are tired, aren't you?"

With his eyes closed, Al admitted, "I was born tired. It's just finally catching up."

"And you don't know."

The empty laugh got bigger, "Know what? What am I supposed to know?"

The visitor knew Al wanted help, but the help had to come from inside Al. "I think you should go back to see Sam. He's in a special time."

"More Christmas?"

"Yes."

"I love Christmas, you know." It was a statement of fact. Despite the horrors of his life in general, something about Christmas made Al feel the world was going to be okay, even if he wasn't. "It's the best time."

"It will be. Go see Sam."


	2. Chapter 2

This is a fluffy piece I wrote long ago. It is sappy and schmaltzy and wreaking of all that oozy stuff that just seems to work this time of year. Anyhow, it is my contribution to the holiday literature out here in fanfic land. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Eid or whatever you celebrate during the winter solstice.

I do not own any part of Quantum Leap.

'**Twas the Night Before** - Chapter Two

The Admiral sighed, "I love Christmas, you know." It was a statement of fact. Despite the horrors of his life in general, something about Christmas made Al feel the world was going to be okay, even if he wasn't. "It's the best time."

His odd little visitor smiled. "It will be. Go see Sam."

Heavy steps led the Admiral from the Waiting Room toward the Imaging Chamber. The door slid open and he found himself with Sam again, but now back on the first street corner they met. This time, the streets were filled with people and traffic moved. "Hi, Sam."

"What's going on, Al? I was with my family in 1965 then all of a sudden I'm back here and I can't leave."

"The guy told me to come back. He just told me to come see you."

Down the street, a very little boy and a littler girl walked hand in hand. Sam wondered, "What are they doing out alone at this time of night?"

The boy was thin, small and obviously the big brother. He spoke to his sister. "You wait here until I tell you to move."

The little girl was bundled up so tight only her tiny eyes were visible. She nodded and the boy walked toward Sam and Al. They watched the ragamuffin approach apparently quite able to see Sam in this time. With a determined step he marched right up into Sam's face. "Here's the deal. I got money for you if you'll be Santa Claus for my sister."

"Excuse me?"

The little boy tried to puff himself up bigger, but he was so young it was almost laughable. "That's my sister over there and she wants to see Santa. The department store Santas don't like kids like her. She's mongoloid. She believes this stuff about Santa. Since they won't see her, I figured I could buy you off."

At last, the Admiral recognized the boy. "Aw geez, Sam, that's me."

Sam grabbed a quick look at the hologram, "You?"

The boy answered, "Yeah, me. So? You willing to talk to her?"

His eyes were on the older version, but he answered the Al-child, "Sure, I'll talk to her."

Drawing himself as tall as possible he warned, "You hurt her at all and I'll get you. Understand?"

"I won't hurt her. I promise."

The boy crossed the street to gather up the little girl.

Sam had a million questions, but all he came up with was, "You sure that's you?"

"I don't want to be here." He punched the handlink, but Ziggy remained unresponsive and he couldn't exit the Imaging Chamber. "Great. How the hell is this supposed to help me?"

The realization hit Sam. "I feel it, Al. I know why I'm here."

By now young Al was within earshot, dragging his sister behind him. "I told you I'd find Santa. Here. You talk to him." The boy removed the scarf from his sister's face. Her features were clearly in keeping with those born with Down syndrome, called mongolism in the 40s. While unwrapping the girl, young Al told Sam, "She doesn't talk a lot, but she understands words. She knows her name, too."

Sam got down on his knee and lifted the girl onto his lap. "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! Can you tell me your name?"

A slow lisping child's voice said, "Twudy." Her beautiful big eyes grew in absolute awe. The enchantment was delightful and Sam had to grin from ear to ear. So did both Al Calaviccis.

Big Al looked down at his little sister, "Sam, isn't she cute?"

The fake Santa's finger playfully touched the button nose on the little girl. "Adorable, positively, perfectly adorable." She opened her arms and threw them around Sam.

The hologram vainly wished he was the one feeling the warmth of her loving embrace, but he was glad that Trudy had someone, some adult to hold her in the cold night. "Sam, she loves to hug people and being hugged. Let her decide when the hug is over, okay?"

There wasn't any need for the Admiral to make that request. Sam was going to hold on forever if the child wanted. "You are such a good hugger, Trudy. I think you're the best hugger I know." Her short arms hugged even harder and Sam reveled in it. He watched Trudy's older brother smiling, happy that his little sister was getting some attention. "So, Trudy, who is that boy over there?"

She ran into young Al's arms, "Allie! Allie! Allie! Twudy love Allie!"

"I can see that. He's a good brother, isn't he?"

Young Al pulled away from her, "Come on, Trudy, talk to Santa." She started to put her thumb in her mouth and Al gently pushed her hand down, "Be a big girl. No thumbs."

"No tumbs, no tumbs," and she was back sitting on Sam's bended knee. "Twudy love Thanta."

The boy Al said, "Trudy loves everyone. I just wish everyone loved her."

The Admiral had to distance himself physically from the trio before him. Sam brushed a snowflake from Trudy's eyebrow. "So, Trudy, tell Santa what you want for Christmas."

"Sam, don't. We couldn't afford anything."

The young Al's face hardened against the reality of their poverty. "I just wanted her to talk to you, not ask for stuff. I don't have any money."

Trudy didn't understand poverty or even the concept of money. She just knew that she was sitting on Santa's lap and she could ask for a present. "Twudy want Mama."

Both Al's muttered under their breath, "Damn."

There was no doubt in Sam's mind now. This was the first Christmas the Calavicci children spent without their mother, the mother who deserted them probably just a few days earlier. "Oh Trudy, I'm not sure I can do that. Sometimes people go away and they don't come back. I don't think your mother is going to come home to you." Her eyes turned tearful and Sam held her close. "But you have a special person who loves you so much. You have Allie. He's the best brother in the whole world, isn't he?" She nodded fighting back tears.

Young Al, like the older version needed some physical distance. The fragile boy quietly said, "I'm no substitute for a mother. Hell, I need one myself."

The maturity, the language, the deep love for his sister all belied Al's seven years. Sam thought back on the Christmas he re-shared with his family hours earlier and his heart broke in seeing how his best friend had to spend holidays. "Trudy, I want you to remember something, okay?" She tilted her head anticipating the request. "You are a wonderful little girl and Allie loves you and I love you very much. Can you remember that?"

"Allie love Twudy. Thanta love Twudy."

"Good girl."

"Twudy love Mama. Mama come home. Thanta make Mama come home now."

Sam's earlier words made no impression on the child. Her disability let her love profoundly, but minimized her cognitive understanding. "Sweetheart, I can't help you. Your mother is not coming home ever."

"Make Mama come home now!"

Young Al took his sister's hand and pulled her off Sam. "I knew this was a mistake. Come on, Trudy. Let's go home. Say goodnight to Santa."

Brushing the snow from his red velvet pants Sam stopped the boy, "Wait, Al."

Trudy was placed up against a building, "You don't move, understand?" He walked back to Sam sticking his hand into his pocket. "I didn't mean to stiff you."

"I don't want your money. I just want to talk to you."

Trust had to be earned and this Santa was nice enough to Trudy, but that sure as hell didn't make Al trust him, much. "You're not some sort of perv, are you?"

"Perv?"

The Admiral defined it, "Pervert, Sam. A sicko who does stuff to kids."

The thought disturbed Sam. "Oh, my God, no. I would never harm any child and most certainly not you or Trudy. I just wanted to tell you that you're going to be a very important man someday and you have to believe me."

"Well, if Santa says so," a sarcastic voice answered.

"Listen, you and I both know I'm not Santa Claus."

"No kidding."

"Give me a chance." Sam talked to the boy as the Admiral listened in and watched over the light of his young life, his sister. "Al, I get feelings about people and you're going to do great things."

"Like what?"

"Well, I think you're going to fly a spaceship around the moon."

"That's me, Flash Gordon."

The little face was getting more and more recognizable as the Admiral's. Sam laughed, "Not quite. You have greatness in you, in your mind, in your heart. Always remember that, no matter what happens to you in your life."

The whole episode was far more than young Al anticipated. He was just looking for a Santa who wouldn't turn Trudy away. "What do you know about me?"

The Admiral said, "Don't lie to him, Sam."

"You're going to have some rough times in your life, but because your heart is so good, you'll triumph over everything."

The older Al scoffed, "Triumph is a little exaggerated."

"Mister, all I wanted was for you to do the Santa thing for Trudy. Don't make like you're my priest. I got one of those and he's not much more help than you are." Al put seventy three cents in Sam's hand. "Here, a deal is a deal." He walked off.

Sam called after him, "Merry Christmas, Al! Merry Christmas, Trudy!" With one hand in Al's, Trudy waved the other at her own private Santa.

The time travelers stood together watching the children cross the street and walk into a dilapidated brownstone. "You were a tough kid."

"Not by choice, Sam. Not by choice." He couldn't take his eyes from the apparition of what he was. "You know, they're going home to nothing. My father was away and my mother left a few days ago."

"Sorry."

"Me too, but we made it. Somehow Trudy and I got even closer because of it. She was so excited about seeing Santa Claus. It was a dream come true for her. That night she rocked for hours saying 'Trudy see Santa!' Made me crazy at the time, but she was happy, really happy." Al laughed, "Thanks to you. I guess you found your mission."

"If I did, then I should have leaped by now. Must be something else." Al wrinkled up his face dreading where he knew Sam was going. "Go back and talk to the visitor."

"I knew you were going to say that." Al opened the Imaging Chamber door and left his old world for the present world and yet another encounter with whomever the guy was.

Moments later, the visitor and the observer stood facing each other like gunslingers about to draw. "Alright you, I did what you said. I went back and all I saw was one of the worst nights in my life. Got any more surprises for me?"

The old elf walked toward Al, took his arm, led him to the dais and they sat again. "You're tired and very sad. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well. There's nothing you can do about it."

"Not true, but I need your help. You willing to trust me?"

The answer was easy, He thought he was saying, "Nope," but something inside made him say, "Yes, I trust you. I don't know why, but I do."

"Good. I'm glad we finally have that settled." He straightened out his hair and the Fermi suit readying himself for their conversation. Al smiled at the sight. "Okay, Al. I have a few questions to ask you. First, why are you here, Al? What is your purpose in life?"

Philosophy challenged Al. Give him hard science, things he could see and touch. Forget this emotional, psychological crap. Things are or aren't. It all seemed simple and people who fussed with it had too much time on their hands. "I'm here because my mother got pregnant and my purpose is to live as well as I can, hurting as few people as I have to."

"So, you don't know. You honestly don't know."

"Haven't we been through this? I don't know. We've established that. Since you seem to know, just tell me."

The visitor's wrinkled hand touched Al's chest lightly. "You're a Special One."

He looked down at the hand and shook his head. "Not me. Sam's special, maybe, but not me. I'm just along for the ride."

"That's not true. Yes, Sam is a Special One, but his purpose is different. He's a Protector."

From the way the man spoke Al figured he'd just been given the answer, but he still didn't understand and frustration set into his heart. "Geez, I must be getting stupid."

The visitor sat cross-legged on the dais and faced the Admiral. "Al, God uses people as angels, but not all people, just a chosen few. They're called the Special Ones because they're angels alive on earth when they do their work. You," and he put a finger on Al's chest, "are a Special One."

Al sat silently, then slapped his thighs and laughed louder and longer than he had in weeks. "Thanks. I needed a good laugh." He continued, but when he saw the visitor not joining in, he stopped. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"You are a Special One and you have one of the most priceless gifts. You're a Dream Painter."

A chill crept up his spine. The words sounded weird and he still didn't understand what the hell the guy was saying. "You're nuts."

"You give people their dreams and dreams give people hope and life."

"Me? No, that's Sam."

"Sam's gift is Protector. He makes right what is wrong. Your gift is Dream Painter. You show the possibilities in life." Al was speechless. His head shook slightly from side to side, unwilling to believe the words he heard. "From childhood, you have always seen the possibilities and kept those alive. You did that for Trudy the night you got a Santa to listen to her."

"I just didn't want her to be sad, that's all."

"It was the realization of a dream. You painted the possibility for her and it happened."

"That was nothing."

"Try everything. Finding Santa was her dream, but she wasn't the only one. There are many, many people who owe their happiness to you."

Thinking back on five divorces, he muttered, "Most of them are divorce attorneys."

Santa, who was looking an awful lot like a fat Oompa Loompa, laughed not quite like a bowlful of jelly. "Them too, but that's not what I mean. I'm talking about Vietnam."

"Oh yeah, holidays in Vietnam were a real treat."

"They were atrocities and you endured them. Do you know how you affected the men around you?"

"All we did in Vietnam was try to stay alive. Some of us did; some of us didn't."

"You're a 'show me' kind of guy, aren't you?"

"You finally figure that out?"

"Okay. Then I'll show you. Let's see. Do you remember a man named Calvin Douglass?"

Searching through his internal Rolodex Al couldn't recall the man. "I don't think so. Why?"

"He remembers you every Christmas."

The Waiting Room transformed in a flash. Al and his little friend were in the living room of a small home. It was modest, but warm. At the dining room table, a man and a woman played host to two children and to those children's grandparents. They ate their Christmas dinner, laughed and enjoyed being with each other. The visitor whispered to Al. "Remember him now?"

Al looked closely at the African-American man in front of him. "He seems familiar."

"Think about Cham Hoi in 1969."

"Cham Hoi. Cal Douglass. Now I remember. He was in bad shape."

"You and Calvin were in a cage together."

"His leg was shot up in pieces." Al shook his head. "It was dicey for awhile. He was a hell of a good guy. What year is it now?"

"1972."

Al smiled, "He made it home." Then the smile faded. "I'm still in Nam."

"Early in 1970, you engineered an escape for four men. They all made it, but you didn't. You were wounded pretty badly during the escape and couldn't get to the helicopter. You need to listen to Calvin now."

Cal stood up. Standing took some time because he had an artificial limb, a souvenir from hell. "I want to say something here. I look around our table and I see my parents, my beautiful wife Beverly and her parents. I see Martin and Tonya. You are my world. I am the luckiest man alive and I owe everything to my God and to my friend Lieutenant Al Calavicci. He told me that I'd be home this Christmas, but I couldn't figure out how." Cal's eyes filled with tears and silently they trailed down his face. "Somehow, Al kept all of our dreams alive. We knew that even if we died in that hell hole, we would die with hope. That doesn't sound like much, but it was all we had. Al did that for all of us and he paid for it. They used to beat him terribly, but because of him, I made it home. So did Pete Morales and Darius Kennedy. Al didn't. Right now, I don't know if he's alive or dead." A genuine sob of grief overwhelmed the speaker. "I pray to God to keep Al in His hands and see him through the hell in Vietnam. I'd like us to say a prayer for him. Without him, this dream of Christmas would have died."

Calvin sat back down. Nine year old Tonya reached for his hand. Soon the entire family held hands around the table, their heads bowed. A young boy's voice said, "I pray to the Lord that Lieutenant Calavicci comes home soon."

His grandmother added, "I thank God for giving my son a guardian angel like Lieutenant Calavicci. Please Lord, see him home to his family."

Beverly stared at the husband whom only months earlier she thought she had lost, "And if he ever needs family, let him know he always has one here."

A few more moments of silence were concluded when Calvin's father began reciting, "Our Father, which art in heaven. . ."

Al closed his eyes and waved his hand. "Get us out of here," and the flash returned them to the Waiting Room. "That really lifted my spirits."

"I could take you to another 30 homes where similar conversations are going on. You're the Dream Painter and the men who came home from the camps you were in came home in better shape because of you. I got one more then I promise, I'll stop."

"Good," and this time the flash landed them in a greasy spoon restaurant where a Navy Admiral in his summer casuals sat across from a fresh faced kid wearing khakis and a polo shirt. The kid was writing and writing in a spiral notebook with a mechanical pencil. Al smiled finally. "I remember this. Sam was telling me about Quantum Leap."

"Time to listen again."

Sam was so young, but it wasn't all that long ago. He rattled on and on about string theories and tying the ends of the string together and folding it all up. The Admiral sat back in his chair and sipped coffee the waitress just poured. "Look, kid, I believe you, but you're not going to get funded when you explain things that way."

"Why not?"

"You got to remember, most fed heads are mental midgets. They're not going to buy this from you and without the military giving you money you won't be able to do it."

Sam was crestfallen. "I can't do it?"

"You hear, but you don't listen. That's something you're going to have to learn to do better. I didn't say you couldn't do it. You got the dream and you got the science to back it up. What you need is to explain your theory in kindergarten terms to the great minds that hand out the cash. They don't read Feynman or Hawking. Hell, they only know about Carl Sagan because he was on the Tonight Show."

"I don't talk to those people too well. They sort of scare me."

The Admiral had to laugh at his partner. "You're talking about traveling in time and Weitzman scares you? Yikes. You're one bizarre scientist."

Sam got that silly grin on his face, the one he gets when he's solved a problem. "I know. You can talk for me. You can be the Administrator of the project. They like you."

"No, they don't. It's just that I got enough stuff to blackmail them into the next century."

"Would you help me?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask. You need me, kid. The Washington wolves eat guys like you for breakfast."

"But they won't eat you up. Thanks, Al. Thanks. You're the first one to believe in me."

"That's the easy part. Now we have to paint a picture the brain trust can understand. Got some crayons?"

He laughed. Sam laughed with him and the chubby little visitor laughed too. "Seen enough?"

"Yeah, let's go back." The Waiting Room was cold and Al shivered a bit with a chill, but the chill was inside him.

"Do you believe me now?"

Pragmatist that he was Al flatly said, "I'm a Dream Painter. It is my special assignment to help people realize dreams and help make their dreams come true. Right?"

"Yes."

"And I've been doing this all my life, if I'm to believe you."

"Yes."

"Okay. Now that I know this, what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Now it's time to tell you why Sam leaped into me!"

"Hallelujah! I was starting to think I'd be stuck with you forever."

"You are. I am the Bringer of Belief."

"You look like Santa Claus to me and I thought Santa brought presents."

"That's a myth. One that I like, mind you, but I can't possibly bring tangible gifts to all the children in the world. If I could, then no child would be without food, clothing and toys. My specialness is bringing belief to those whose belief is faltering. My job is especially important during the holidays. People need to believe their hearts more this time of the year." With firm resolve he added, "You're the reason Sam and I changed places."

The power of what was happening to him began to make him dizzy. "It doesn't matter any more. I can't keep this up." He leaned against the wall and slid to the Waiting Room floor. This guy had to leave. "Just let Sam leap out of you so we can get back to normal. I'll take the boredom over this any day. I learned my lesson."

The man's sparkling eyes bored into the Admiral. "Al, do you believe in me?"

More than anything he wanted to. Belief in the project, in getting Sam home, in himself was ebbing away quickly like a tide destroying an elegant shoreline. Believe in things like Dream Painters, Bringers of Belief, Protectors? None of it made sense. Special Ones, angels on earth? He wasn't a fool and he wasn't going to be taken. Not Al Calavicci, however his heart, not his rational mind, answered the visitor. Did he believe in the Bringer of Belief? His gut feeling was to say no, but out loud he said, "I don't have any reason to, but yes, I do."

With an index finger waving in the air, the kind old man said, "That's called faith. Faith is believing in things you can't prove."

"Okay, okay, but why tell me all this? It changes nothing."

"You have to believe. Tell me again that you believe."

"In what?"

"In yourself, first and foremost. Can you believe in yourself?"

His military arrogance rose up and he declared, "I always did."

The visitor's face took on a glow. He knew his mission succeeded. "That's all I needed to hear. Sam's about to leap."

"That's it?"

"What were you expecting?"

"Something more than that." A magical, mystical happening occurred in his midst. He thought some great revelation would come to him, some moment of total enlightenment. A tossed away comment about hearing what he needed to hear and Al was supposed to be happier with his life. "Listen, mister, this can't be it."

"Afraid so. Remember, miracles are present in very tiny things as well as the immense. In fact the tiny miracles happen far more often. Dream Painters make miracles for people all the time. So do Protectors. Maybe it's time for you and Sam to make a miracle for each other. Go see your friend Sam."

Mumbling Al said, "Back and forth, back and forth." Al walked slowly but surely into the Imaging Chamber. The room spun and he found Sam sitting on the swing on the snowy front porch of his home in Elk Ridge, Indiana. The time traveler beamed with delight when he saw his best friend. "Al, I'm glad you're here. This has been the best leap."

"Weirdest doesn't mean best."

"I'm home again, Al."

"So I see." There was a slight look of disappointment in his eyes. He thought maybe the miracle he wanted was going to greet him, but instead it was the same old same old. "You know, this isn't really your home."

"Don't worry. I know where my home is - Stallion's Gate, New Mexico. This just makes the time I spend leaping a little more tolerable. Being here, seeing my family again. Now I can go on until I get to come home."

"That would be the best, having you back."

Sam saw the distance in Al's eyes. "You okay?"

The winter sky in Indiana glowed a beautiful soft blue-gray. The peace he waited for seemed to be getting nearer, but he didn't know why, but then he didn't care why. "Back at the project, Christmas is tomorrow. I like Christmas."

"Tomorrow? I wish I could be home."

The Dream Painter said, "Leaping was your dream, Sam, to make things right for people, to defend them. You're a Special One, a Protector."

Walking toward the setting sun, Sam watched the orange orb settle in the darkening sky. Snow started falling more heavily. "I want to come home to the Project. If I ever get back, will you be there?"

"You'd better believe it."

Before Sam had a chance to respond, the blue leap light surrounded him and he disappeared from sight. Al sadly walked from the Imaging Chamber to his office. He sat in the big leather chair, put his silver shod feet on the impressive desk, leaned back and saw the old-fashioned analog clock announce the arrival of morning. Closing his eyes against exhaustion he said to no one in particular, "Merry Christmas, Sam."

A voice sounded back, "Merry Christmas, Al." The door to his office was open and framed in the light was a man in a Fermi suit. He wore a Chesire cat grin and said, "and before you ask, I don't know how I got here."

"Sam?"

The time traveler crossed to the desk, parked himself on the edge. Picking up a silver paper weight and peering at his somewhat distorted reflection he said, "I believe so."

A calm settled in Al's soul. "I believe, too, Sam."

THE END

© Nicole Harpe 2005


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